It's Still Hanukkah so I have an Excuse...

not to blog. I am very busy lighting the candles and fitting myself for Joe's jeans at the Nordstrom half-yearly sale. I am very busy cooking matzo ball soup and dressing Archer up in suspenders. I am very busy with family activities and catching up on my reading and eating like a maniac and going to see movies while Archer hangs with Momz momz. I am very busy working on the manuscript that i told myself would be finished by Saturday and will not. I am busy planning all-night Scrabble parties for New Years Eve and playing with blocks on the floor with little man. I am so busy that I have no time to blog. Not yet. I'll start writing after the holiday. The Jewish holiday. Shalom.


Seven Months OId, Son : A Rap

My name is "your mommy" and seven months ago today,
You busted on the scene in a quite dramatic way. (Ouch)

It was really, pretty bitchin when your eyes looked up at me,
All freshy to the world and shit, with so much ish to see

I dressed you up in FUBU and we strolled out of the room,
Onto the streets of L.A., son, in the midst of the June gloom.

We rolled to see L.A. Philharmonic, cause (word!) that's how we do
And we got all crazy cultured at Getty, LACMA, and the Zoo.

I was really quite impressed on the day you got your shots,
You looked at me like "bitch, that's nothing! now put back on my socks!"

Every day when we together, I'm so proud to call you mine.
Even at the very start when I hadn't slept in nine (days.)

Now you're sitting pretty, next to me while I be rhyme'n
More than just a son, you are my muse and partner in cri'ime

Seven months ago today, I knew you were the one,
That I would die for, Bugsy. (True) I'd kill for you, son.

I love you, little man, more than any thug before
You give my life a meaning that is wicked-fresh hardcore.

Say, word...


P.S. Merry Holidays to all.
We out...

Snowpeople Gone Child: A Holiday Joke


GGC Does Not Recommend: Goodnight Moon

WTF is so great about Goodnight Moon???

Goodnight Moon is arguably the most well-known American Baby Book which says a lot about America I think. For one, the book sucks. It says nothing. It barely rhymes and although the pictures are fine, it's just very ho-hum booooooring. No diss on Margaret Wise Brown. Runaway Bunny is genius. I love everything about that book but Goodnight Moon just sucks. Ass. It's an overrated piece of baby poop-pop-lit and I am pretty sure I am the first to say it. (try googling GOODNIGHT MOON SUCKS. Nothing comes up... until NOW!)

We received many books at Archer's baby shower. Being voracious readers many of our friends/strangers bought Arch books. Not surprisingly we received 12 Goodnight Moons. Over 50% of Archer's library. No offense if you bought us a Goodnight Moon and are reading this but how unoriginal are you? Psh. I exchanged all but one of the GNM's for books like Outside Over There (my childhood favorite) and Aesop's Fables. Books with at least *some* substance. I mean. Good Dog, Carl says a whole lot more than Goodnight Moon and it doesn't even say anything!

Anyway, this has been a recent epiphany because last night as always I collected Archer's board books from his bookshelf. We opened Goodnight Moon and I stopped mid-(the following) sentence:

Goodnight moon/
Goodnight cow jumping over the moon

Yikes. How the hell did this book get so popular? Moon and Moon? Not only that but the iambic pentameter is totally off...

I kept reading, slowly until I ran into the climax:

Goodbye nobody/
Goodnight mush

Unless I am missing the pre-post-modern, existential significance, I am pretty sure that the author just ran out of ideas and stuck in, nobody because of a deadline. I'm not saying that children's books have to mean something, but "Goodnight Nobody?" Pulease.

I will admit that I am a bit snobby when it comes to books. It probably has something to do with the fact that pop literature has made it near impossible to write/sell a novel that does not boast Manolo Blahnik sandals on the cover. Or a martini. Or pink. Authors like Knut Hamsun, Virginia Woolf and Colette would never get the chance to be banned today because no one would publish them. Too much character, not enough story- etc, etc.

I imagine there are scores of children's book authors whose manuscripts have been turned down because of this precedent:

A comb and a brush/
And a bowl full of mush*

Anyway. I am realizing as I write this how terrible I sound. Shame on me, but seriously shame on us for kissing The Emperor's ass. There are wonderful children's books out there. And then there's Goodnight effing Moon.


*wtf is up with "mush?"

Party Etiquette for Girls Gone Child

Saturday night a friend of ours had a party. Being the only invitees with a child we asked if it was okay to bring Archer. Our friend said, "of course!" So we brought him. All dressed up with Archer hanging on my hip, bundled up in his starry-sling. No one seemed to mind and if they did I was too busy macking down on Sushi and Seaweed salad (and picking fallen bits off Archer's hat.)

I had a couple glasses of wine and enjoyed myself as one would at a party. When Archer woke up, he smiled at the people and we made our rounds, cheese and crackers for me, smooshed banana and a ba-ba for him.

After a while, my arm became tired. Twenty pounds of little boy is one heavy accessory. Sheesh! Plus, he had dozed off again and was sweating so I wanted to put him down. We laid him down in our friend's room on my coat with blankets and his nu-nu.

When he started to fuss, we said our goodbyes and exited stage left. Perfectly fine, right?

I guess I'm one of those Momzes who think its okay to bring their child everywhere. Museums, concerts, parties as long as baby isn't screaming his bloody head off/ making anyone's life miserable.

Last night we went with some friends to see King Kong at the Dome* and got a babysitter for the first time. It was the first time I had been in my husband's car in almost a year (the carseat is in mine so...) and I felt naked. Naked!!!

And what about you? Do you have your pie and eat it too? (I prefer pie to cake.) Do you take your kid/baby/ with you or do people like me annoy the hell out of you? It's okay. I can take it. Bring it on.


*the movie was ok. Quentin Tarantino was watching two rows in front of us w/ his entourage of DP's and AP's and PA's. A fight broke out between a drunk man/abusive father (throwing his kid around) and some angry Hollywood hipsters. It was kind of funny because people were literally throwing things and yelling over his head and QT's eyes never left the screen, even as security escorted the entire row behind him out of the theatre. I forgot how dramatic trips to the movies can be in this town. I also forgot how no one can leave the theatre until the credits are finished. It's a respect issue because everyone works in the "Industry," (my husband included) and every stunt-man, craft service worker, 3rd assistant to the gaffer must be recognized... Anyway, I could go on and on but this blog is about GGC not GGTTM.**

** Girls Gone to the Movies

Friday Weekly Pictorial Por la Gente

Because I take approximately 32718729813918371 pictures of Archer daily I have decided to designate Fridays as GGC photo extravaganza for distant relatives and the like. Enjoy!

The Man:

The Music:

The Afterparty!

Wardrobe brought to you by:
Daddy's Baby Wardrobe


My Boobs are None of your Business

Confession #1: I am not breastfeeding
Confession #2: I stopped when Archer was 6 weeks old.
Confession #3: I absolutely hated it.
Confession #4: I hate everyone who gives me shit about it...

Ah, yes. My new biggest pet peeve are people that lecture me on breast-feeding: like the lady in line at the grocery store, like the dude in the elevator and the dozens of others who think its okay to tell me how to raise my child and work my body. Even my pediatrician raises her eyebrows when I remind her that I feed Archer formula. I am not breast-feeding and although I am not denying that I didn't "try hard enough" I have no regrets so don't make me slap you. I think breastfeeding is wonderful and amazing and I really wish it worked out for me but it did not. Not in this life.

"Cute baby, are you breastfeeding?"
"Oh. I see. (eyebrows raise) Why not?"
"I don't think its any of your business, actually." (100 watt smile)

I had two breast reductions which is like having one but a lot worse. If any of you have had a breast reduction you will understand. I would even go as far as saying that childbirth was a breeze compared to the surgical procedure of removing ones nipples, removing several pounds of boob and sewing them back together haphazardly. And then having to go through it again three years later. (They grew back. I know, I am like a starfish.)

There are many excuses I would rather make then go into the truth because most people don't get the whole "removing big tits mentality." Men especially. Most dudes have this picture in their mind but in reality its more like this. I knew from the beginning that having a breast reduction would probably ruin my chance of having a happy breastfeeding experience, if one at all. At 18 years old I didn't care. I just wanted to buy my bras at normal stores like Victoria's Secret instead of getting grammy bras at outlet stores. I just wanted to wear a bathing suit without looking like a hooker, (or being called one.) I wanted to work out without the mandatory two sports bras for support. I digress...

Can you blame me for not wanting to go into this with strangers? I don't see why I should be asked to explain myself in the first place. Even if I had decided not to breastfeed for other reasons, they are PERSONAL reasons, as in... it's no one's business. Gosh! People can be so rude.

This has been the last straw. The next time some asshole asks me, (s)he's going to get a bottle of ENFAMIL in the face. Not kidding.

My son is healthy and that's alllll that matters.


To Christmas or not to Christmas:

It is beginning to look a lot like Hanukkah

After much contemplation we have decided not to celebrate Christmas in our home. I am a little bit sad because I wanted a Christmas tree, to hell with the rest of it, I just am a fan of trees with the twinkly lights. I tried to trick my old man into buying a "Hanukkah Bush" but he was not amused. My dad, backing me up, suggested "A Pagan Pine" but that also was not accepted, so there you have it folks.

Archer will be raised a Jew which means he will probably ruin Santa for the rest of the kids.

"Why, Santa? He's just a big, fat lie the gentiles tell their kids. There is no Santa!"

Just as well, I suppose. Finding out that Santa was a big, fat lie was pretty upsetting. It was Katie Anglestead who broke the news to me in 2nd grade. I was a die-hard Santa fan. I even had an elf named Pixie that Santa sent as a messenger and he would move around the house whenever I left the room. I never was able to touch him because if I did he would disappear and every year I would cry on Christmas Eve because Pixie had to leave me and go back with Santa to the North Pole. One year Pixie fell from a shelf and broke. I was shattered to learn that he was made of glass but believed that it was just his "cover." There was no turning back after Katie broke the news, explaining in detail why Santa was an impossible idea. When I found Santa's gifts in my Dad's closet I knew Katie was right. It was traumatic. Idealism hurts, yo.

My questions to GGC Readers: How did you find out that Santa was a farce? For all non-celebrating Xmas readers: How did you feel about Santa? Did he come anyway? Some of my Jewish friends had "Hanukkah Harry" which is kind of odd, but shit, whatever works. Tell me your stories, people...

Signing off on this totally Torah Tuesday!



It Starts: The Repel Instinct

"Mom! Get the hell off me. Christ, woman!"


"Mother, Tell (the) Children Not to Walk my Way..."

This morning I went hiking with my new friend and baby Lola. Lola is an older woman (by a few months) and quite striking. She likes to hike with toothbrushes in her hand, playing drums with her Mom's hair. Archer could care less. I feel like such a dictator nudging her backpack with the Bjorn saying, "seeeeee. Baaaaaaaby. Frieeeeeeend."

Archer eats his fingers and looks at me like "what the hell, momz. pssshhhhhh." It's true, the little man is going on seven months and he has yet to respond/play/take notice of the other kids/babies. Archer socializes with the dogs and family members. Once in a while I'll suck on nu-nu*'s with him and play with my feet but other than that... nada.

My mom keeps telling me to get involved with a play-group or mommy-and-me class but I just can't bring myself to do such a thing. Call me a snob but joining Mommy-and-Me class is like buying a mini-van. It has FUTURE PTA, PROUD PARENT OF AN HONOR STUDENT, MY CHILD HAS OUTSTANDING PEOPLE SKILLS written all over it like one of those bumper stickers.

Archer comes from a long line of antisocial misanthropes so I am hoping this is not hereditary.

Maybe six months is too early. Boys mature slower than girls do anyway. Maybe Archer is a poet, a shadow-lurking sponge who is taking it all in, watching out of the corner of his eye and trying to find the right words to rhyme with toothbrush. Maybe I should just chill out and let the kid figure it out when he feels like it.



Boy Meets Penis

For the last few days, every time I change Archer's diaper he goes straight for the gold. He hasn't peed in my eye in months, but that squirtgun has become the most exciting toy yet. I try to pretend like I'm not looking, like I don't notice the bond forming between boy and balls and suddenly I remember this song in kindergarten that this boy I liked use to sing before whipping it out on the playground and before I know it I'm singing the song to myself and to Archer and to the dogs who are like, WTF woman!

"My ding-a-ling. My ding-a-ling. I like to play with my ding-a-ling."

Little girls don't have that option. We can't just whip it out. I was always jealous of this fact as a youngster. Mine was all hidden and I couldn't write my name with my pee-pee and pshhhhh, what a rip off!

A few years back I was at the beach when I saw a mother chasing her little boys who were running around the beach naked, squirting each other with their Pen15 guns. She was so embarrassed and frazzled and trying to distract the beach/audience by singing "La la la la, nothing to see here! Doo, doo, doo-doo... WHAT ARE YOU LOOOOOOOOOOKING AT?"

It was quite a scene and we were all slightly embarrassed for her but only because SHE was so embarrassed. When I was a little girl I did all sorts of embarassing things too, and that is kinda the way it works. One day Archer's girlfriend will come to dinner and I will pass the naked baby photos and he will say "Mom!" and I will say, "What? It's just a little penis" and we'll all laugh/ he will kill me. That is how it works, right? Innocence is bewildering sometimes, the fact that nothing phases Archer, embarrasses Archer, shames Archer is so wonderful that it makes me think back to the times in my life when I felt the same. When I was young and lessons were learned, the world opened-up, revealing several layers of dried skin, when innocence was lost. Things change. Quickly. Every year memories are drawn-over with new crayon.

Having a baby is like clicking REFRESH on ones own childhood. Every "first" is another reminder, telling stories forever, generations upon generations, without using a single word. And even though I don't have a penis, these mommy/baby moments still take me back...

GGC: Gone with the Nostalgic Wind

Weekend With the In-Laws

We had a wonderful weekend with my hubby's parental units and brother unit, who were visiting from Nueva York. There was laughter, hugs, scrabble, park-strolls, tasty food and love galore.

I am positive that Archer is the luckiest little boy to have such fantastic, generous, adorable, hilarious, attractive relatives. Lucky, lucky, lucky, boy. (And lucky, lucky GGC.)

Monday Mornings: A Reality Play in One Act

Int: Coffee Bean. Archer, dressed in typical golferesque hat and grin reclines leisurely in his stroller. Me, dressed in typical Jeans and black sweater pushes Archer out the door, coffee in hand when sixty-something overweight man stops us.

Man:I love what you have done to your son
Me: Pardon?
Man: His hat. I just love his hat.
Me: Awww... thanks! Yeah, he looks cute in hats. I just can't help myself. (sigh)
Man: Hats are the most underrated accessory. I like to think that hats are to boys what rims are to cars.
Me: Aha! Like an SAT question. Fascinating point. Hmmmm. Let me.... yes, rims, you say? Yes...
Man: Me, I don't have a child but I do have 24's on my Mercedes.
Me: Impressive. Well, so long!
Man: Until we meet again!
Archer: (spitting up) babababababadorkbabababa

And... Scene


The Other Kids...

Because I must not forget the furrier chillins (Cooper the boxer & Zadie the boston) and I am much too lazy today to write anything clever/thought-provoked. Have a nice weekend.


Archer Sits by Himself!!!!

... and the crowd goes wild! (Not to mention the shutterbug.) These pics are for the fam:

GGC Photo Spreads